


The Personal Works of Benvolio Montague

by Author_Authenticated



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: All characters tagged except for Valentine are only mentioned, Diary/Journal, Poetry, love u val
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 07:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16300580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_Authenticated/pseuds/Author_Authenticated
Summary: Imma keep it real with you chiefs, this is just my class project for Romeo and Juliet with a few things peppered in here and there.Anyway, these are three journal entries and three poems, all written from the perspective of Benvolio, the sole survivor of the passionate teenagers of Verona.





	1. Journal - Sunday Night

Sunday Night  
  


It seems that I’ve been neglecting my journal in favor of parties I shouldn’t be at with people who shouldn’t be there either. I threw together some basic designs for masquerade masks, Mercutio being the dramatic guy that he is, insisted on something fancy. I threw them together pretty quickly, and I hardly got to see them while they were on the two! The party itself was alright if you ignore the fact Romeo ditched us halfway through and we ended up losing him. I probably shouldn’t be saying _we,_ as it was mostly just _me_ politely conversing with noble fathers and winking at noble daughters, while Mercutio was out dancing and singing with swooning women and charming men alike. How he drank so much wine and was _still_ able to stand is still beyond my knowledge, and beyond his faith. Mercutio was well lucky I didn’t leave him by his lonesome, he likely wouldn’t have gotten home in the first place had it not been for me dragging him home.

I had always been closer with Romeo than with Mercutio, but I feel like I really got to know him well tonight. He’s a pretty good guy once you look past the offensive behavior and provocative speech mannerisms. His heart is in the right place, but the way he does things are... unorthodox. To say the least. I thought he and Romeo were going to go head-to-head until Romeo cracked a wide grin, and I realized he was just trying to get Romeo to smile, not trying to get him to raise fists.

Speaking of narrowly avoided fights, I almost witnessed Tybalt draw his sword during the party. He seemed to recognize Romeo, and my only thought was _“Oh no.”_ I couldn’t speak up, to risk blowing my polite cover in front of a party full of Capulets. I can’t say I feared for my life, but I did fear for Romeo’s. It was, in itself, absolutely terrifying. I only have his uncle to thank, as Tybalt was subdued before anything could break out. I lost Romeo to the path of lust merely moments later. I only hope he doesn’t come back for us later, I have a feeling that trouble-starter of a Capulet is going to end up being his own death.

I do really hope Romeo got home okay. I’m slightly worried, but he’ll likely press on regardless. He always has. If I know one thing about my cousin, it’s that he’ll always persist, even if it gets him into trouble. But he always makes it out in the end. I really do surround myself with a rowdy bunch, don’t I?


	2. Journal - Saturday Evening, Two Days Post-Suicide

Saturday Evening, Two Days Post-Suicide

 

They held Mercutio’s funeral today. It was an Escalus-only event, so I had to sneak in through the back gate and weasel through the rose gardens to attend. Not to mention it was raining, and by the time I got there, I received many odd looks. I suppose that’s what I get for breaking and entering. Everyone but me said their piece . . . and it was awful. Downright dreadful. I bet that Mercutio’s ghost was laughing at all of us, and I know that he wouldn’t have wanted a depressing funeral. I’m nearly surprised he didn’t plan it to be a big ballroom party full of beautiful women, men, and expensive drink. Lord knows he’s dramatic enough to actually do it. What ended up happening was so bleak I could have left halfway through, but I didn’t. From the way they were talking about him, I’d bet half of his own family members didn't know him personally. His own Uncle called him ‘well-mannered’ and ‘considerate!’ Yeah, _right_.

I can’t say if it was good or bad, but something did happen today. I met Mercutio’s brother. He wept. In the pouring rain, Valentine stared at his brother’s casket and just wept. Whether it was due to grief or his natural personality, I know not. But . . . he had such a _soft_ disposition in contrast to Mercutio’s. When he stopped weeping long enough to take in his surroundings, he looked around like a caged animal and accidentally caught my eye. I don’t know how he recognized me, but I feel like Mercutio may have told him about me. He came up to me and looked me in the eye, and that was it for me. I began to cry too. He asked me if I was really there when _‘Cutio’_ died. I couldn’t bring myself to lie when his wide, tear-stained eyes met mine. I told him that I was there, I held him in the alleyway as he died. Valentine grabbed my forearms and just stared a lifeless stare. He clutched my arms tight enough that if I checked, there could be bruises where his fingers met my skin. He asked me if Tybalt got what he deserved. I told him that he died screaming. Valentine finally smiled, but began hiccuping seconds after, breath catching every few seconds. I said I was sorry. He said he loved him.

**I said I loved him too.**


	3. Journal - Two Weeks Post-Suicide

Two Weeks Post-Suicide

 

It’s been hard finding people willing to stitch me up so often. I should probably learn for myself soon, but it hardly matters. My elders have been scolding me for engaging in petty fights, and that I should be keeping the newfound-peace in these fair streets of Verona. But that’s nonsense. _Peace and love_ killed Romeo and Juliet. _Violence_ killed Mercutio. _Justice_ killed Tybalt. There is no peace in Verona, so long as their blood remains on these streets, regardless of if it has been washed away with words of truces or not. So, I fight. Maybe he was right. Maybe my temper really was too wild, as level-headed as I had tried to be. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was finally my breaking point. If only he could see me now, sitting atop Escalus and Capulet garden walls to try to talk to gods. A foolish thought, but sometimes I find myself whispering to the heavens. I’d capture all the stars if it meant bringing him back to me. Of all the people who wished him dead, his own self probably wished for it the most- but not like that. Not in my arms. Not in the alley of a stranger’s house. Not as his life slipped away from me with every breath... I miss them so much. I miss Mercutio’s long-winded nonsensical speeches, I miss consulting Romeo as he sulked over pretty girls, I miss our banter as we walked down Verona’s fair streets and talked about how much we hated the the restrictions we have been raised in and the girls we fancied. God, we were only kids. Dumb kids. Some of us no older than 13 summers.

Death took them from me. What merciful God does that? I saw as they pulled Romeo and Juliet’s bodies away and down into the crypt. They said, “ _May God rest their souls.”_ And I began to think, what good and loving God lets something like that happen? So many lives were lost, none of which were _truly_ deserving. I mean, sure, Mercutio was provocative a lot of the time, Romeo was emotional, Juliet only got caught up in it, and as many fights as Tybalt started… maybe he got what was coming to him. _Mercutio got the final say. Ha._ And poor Paris. His only crime was loving Juliet. He died trying to defend her, which is more than Romeo _~~can~~_ could say. Romeo died over a girl he knew merely days. I was wrong to console him, that morning in the garden. He wouldn’t have died had he mourned Rosaline a day longer. My Mercutio wouldn’t have bled out in front of me if it weren’t for that run-in with the fool. I resent that party and I regret ever breaking up that fight on the street. I blame myself.


	4. Poetry - The Star Crossed Others

The Day Courage Died in Vain / The Star-Crossed Others

 

I watched the love of my life lose his mind in death.

As the steel tip of the sword punctured his fragile, stubborn heart

his eyes went wide but never once did he scream in pain.

His usual canary-outsmarted-the-cat grin wavered on his face

between amusement and semi-hidden terror;

the cat had won this round.

He coughed once, twice, and a third time, head falling upon my shoulder.

Whispering his last bits of wit into the open air,

heavy with the heat of summer and stained with young blood.

The hand covering his wound arose, and he was met with the sight

of crimson blood pouring from his heaving chest,

and that is when his fury struck.

His other arm wrapped around my neck, and in an attempt to stand his ground, his legs shook, he held me for support as he screamed his throat dry over and over,

_“a  p l a g u e  o ’ b o t h y o u r  h o u s e s !”_

until I dragged him screaming away from the man he had been trying to defend.

It was only when we reached the alley did I start crying,

tears flowing evenly, as my breaths were not.

His very last words fell upon deaf ears, as my head spun from the sight of blood.

The last thing he’d ever see were my tears.

The last thing I saw were his cobalt eyes flutter shut.

I cupped his face and kissed my star-crossed other goodbye.

I watched the love of my life die in my arms.


	5. Poetry - You Look Like You've Seen a Ghost.

**_"You look like you’ve seen a ghost."_ **

Yeah, well, maybe I have.

 

Maybe I saw my best friend die in my arms,

and I can hear his cheers as whispers when I walk down the street,

ghosts of the memories I once had with him.

 

Maybe I saw my cousin buried at age 16,

eyes once full of life and empathy

empty and frozen and forced shut.

 

Maybe I saw the cheerful daughter

of a noble house, no older than thirteen summers,

stabbed in the chest with an inseparable grip on

the arm of the boy she loved.

 

Maybe I saw the man my family once called

their mortal enemy bloody and dead in the street,

family members weeping for a life that was gone.

 

Maybe I saw the emotion in the Prince's eyes,

shock, denial, fury, fear, and grief flickering through-

none lasting longer than seconds.

The same eyes of the dead man that lied outside of a grave that was not his.

 

I have stared death in the face and told him to come back later.

 

So tell me.

 

**_Have I seen a ghost?_ **


	6. Poetry - Extinguished Lights in Verona

Our dead burn like flames in the night.

 

Those that burn the brightest are the first to fade,

and Mercutio was the wildfire to Verona’s forest.

 

Tybalt burned like a spark meeting an arrow's tip;

an incendiary weapon, pointed in the wrong directions.

 

Flickering out in the dead of night, Paris lived only

to love and serve, his fire guiding like a beacon in the dark.

 

Romeo and Juliet held their candles in the window,

wax dripping and yet with so much wick left,

they lock eyes and blow their flames out together.

 

Only I remain. I still burn, and one day my flame

will either grow out of control or be taken away with the wind,

and when that day comes,

I will know the cold that embraces my long lost dead.


End file.
